


So Pretty

by Apetslife



Category: Popslash
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-03
Updated: 2012-02-03
Packaged: 2017-10-30 13:00:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apetslife/pseuds/Apetslife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My therapist said not to see you no more, he said you're like a disease, without any cure... (features Goth!Drag!Lance, a Justin who's just this side of obsessed, and Chris and JC being seriously amused). Written in 2002.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Pretty

 

_This bed is on fire with passionate love_  
 _The neighbors complain about the noises above_  
 _But she only comes when she's on top_

Lance was hitting that magical groove, the golden rhythm, she was moaning and arching back and clutching his hands where they held her hips hard, sliding into tight-wet-hot-SO-hot, pumping his hips up and up and up and in, there was a sheen of sweat between her small perfect breasts and he was biting his lip because she hadn't come yet and he was going to last, he WAS, and her thighs tightened and her breath shivered and muscles in her shoulders bunched as she grabbed him hard and the door swung open and he froze. Couldn't see past her, but could somehow tell that the door was open. Her eyes were wide, she'd frozen too, and she looked like she was about to start laughing.

He raised up on his elbows and peered around her lean waist, slim straight hips, peeking almost, who the fuc-

Justin. Standing in the door, one hand clapped over his mouth, eyes HUGE, stock still and red-cheeked.

"Justin!" His voice was hoarse in his throat, he'd been SO CLOSE..."Get the FUCK out!"

"Lance..." Justin's voice was breathy and small. "Lance, is that...Ohmygod, Lance. Is that a BOY?"

She did start laughing then, gripping short dark spiky hair in small hands, tumbling sideways off his lap, off his dick, onto the rumpled bedspread. He almost cried with disappointment, and vowed, somewhere in the deepest darkest part of his brain, that Justin would pay.

__

_My therapist said not to see you no more  
She said you're like a disease without any cure  
She said I'm so obsessed that I'm becoming a bore, oh no  
Ah, you think you're so pretty_

JC settled next to him in the lounge, and he grunted a hello. It was really too early for any pleasantries, and his coffee hadn't come yet. JC looked disgustingly well-rested. Lance thought uncharitable thoughts about Joey and stamina and why of all of them only JC seemed to thrive on incessant touring and even more incessant sex.

"He's really sorry, you know." JC was smiling.

Lance grunted again. He could be sorry all he wanted, little fucker, it didn't change the fact that Lance hadn't been able to talk Diane--and it was SO strange, screwing someone with his mom's name--into staying last night, and therefore, Lance hadn't gotten off.

"He feels really bad." JC, when determined, could talk for hours to a wall, and would, quite happily. "He was almost hysterical when he came by last night. Did you yell at him? Not that I would blame you. Did he really ask if your date was a guy? I know it must have been embarrassing, for you and her, especially her, maybe, but damn, Lance, that's funny. I shouldn't laugh, but it really is. Did she get mad? Did she yell at him? We couldn't get anything out of Justin but the main points of the story. He only came in because he heard thumping and thought you had fallen out of bed or something. You know he'd never walk in like that. He was so funny last night, though. He kept saying 'Lance...naked' over and over. It was kind of cute, really, but he's totally sorry. You know he's sorry, right? I don't think he's even-"

Lance, with skill borne of long years of practice, broke in when he heard a pause for breath. "JC, he can't be half as sorry as I am. I mean, think about it. That poor girl's probably traumatized for life." Actually, she probably wasn't...she'd been giggling too hard to be really upset, and when she wiped her tears away and patted his cheek and got dressed and left, she'd still been grinning. He'd actually kind of liked her a lot. Little fucker.

"Oh, Lance." JC sighed, and rubbed his shoulder. "That must have sucked. I mean, how embarrassing for her. And didn't I hear her ask you if you were gay anyway, in the club? She's gonna have a complex now. Or maybe not, some girls like looking like guys, I think. I mean, look at how some of them dress! And she had really short hair, so maybe it's a good thing for her, you know? Affirm-"

"She did NOT ask if I was gay!" Lance's cheeks were flaming, he could feel them, and he cursed the blushing for probably the millionth time. That month.

"Sure she did, honey, I heard her." JC's hand made soothing circles. "It's not such a bad thing, you know. I mean-"

Chris staggered through the door, holding his head and moaning for coffee and cutting JC off before he really got going, and Lance wanted to kiss him. Bleary eyes and bed head and all.

***

When Lance had moved onto the three-man bus, he'd demanded and recieved a promise that he could call for Quiet Hour at least once a day. He loved JC and Joey, he did, and he was more than happy to give them time together, but Chris and Justin without a mute button were really too much for him to handle without conditions placed on the noise level.

This morning, though, it was almost surreally quiet on the bus, and Lance bent over his laptop with a happy sigh. Justin was hiding in his bunk; Lance still hadn't seen him. And Chris was plugged in to his earphones, scribbling at something on a notepad, sprawled out on the couch and not being a pain. Maybe he should try to get Justin to make an idiot out of himself more often. The results were really delightful.

Two hours later, Lance was convincing himself that he kept peeking back towards the bunks because he needed to give his eyes a break from the computer screen. Quiet was one thing; this was eerie. Chris was passed out cold, and Justin still hadn't poked his nose past the curtain on his bunk.

Lance stood up. He needed a sweatshirt, it was chilly. No, he really did. And he certainly didn't scrape against Justin's curtain on purpose.

"Chris?" Justin's voice was quiet.

"No, it's me." He bent down and grabbed his sweatshirt off the floor. At least Justin was alive in there.

"Lance?" Softer still.

"Yep." He wasn't talking to Justin, he remembered. He was mad at Justin. He hoped Justin was miserably guilty in there. Possibly shaving his head again, due to the shame. His mind lingered for a minute on the memory of Arena Homme Justin nakedshavedheadnakedsneer until he shook his head to clear it. He was angry with Justin. Very angry.

"Lance, are you still mad?" There was something about that light, sad, disembodied voice...Lance sighed.

"No, not really." The curtain swung open, and he was looking into Justin's tentative smile.

"Really?" Justin's fingers were picking at the edge of the dark blue fabric, nervously. "Because I am so, SO sorry, man. You don't even know. I feel terrible." Justin's mouth curved into a little frown. "Did she...I mean. Oh, it's not my business."

Lance couldn't help but grin. Justin was so rarely uncertain, so rarely caught off balance, that this was really a special treat. Justin caught the grin, though, and lit up like a Christmas tree, exploding out of his bunk in a tangle of long limbs and excitement.

"Oh, you're really not mad. Thank god. I was so worried!" Justin threw his arms around Lance, almost picked him up, and just squeezed for a minute or two. Lance, startled, grabbed him back to keep his balance, and just stood, absorbing the feeling of six feet plus of warm happy pop superstar pressed against him. When Justin smacked a wet kiss on his cheek and ran to the lounge to jump on Chris, Lance stood still for another minute, letting his pulse settle back down.

***

"Lance." Justin poked him with a foot. He ignored it, calmly, still typing.

"Lance. Lancelancelance. Lance." Another poke, and he looked up. He wanted to save his Quiet Hour, but Justin was starting to push it.

"What, Justin?" He hoped he sounded appropriately long-suffering.

"I'm sorry I thought that girl was a guy." Lance stiffened, but there was nothing in those blue eyes but sincere apology.

"You already apologized, I already said fine, Just." He turned back to the computer. There was silence for a minute, then toes hit his ribs again.

"Lance."

"WHAT, Justin?" He turned around fully this time, facing Justin, who was all sprawled out.

"She really did look like a guy, you know. From behind and everything."

"Justin..." He ran his hands through his hair. "I guess it's an honest mistake."

Justin nodded seriously. "She was all...unhippy, and stuff."

"I guess." He cocked an eyebrow at Justin, who was silent, looking like he was thinking. Lance hoped he didn't strain anything. When it was quiet for a moment longer, he turned back.

Toes.

"FUCK, Justin, WHAT?"

"Oh, you swore." Justin was grinning. He knew Lance couldn't stand it when he played up the baby thing...

"Yeah, so what, whatever, can I work here?"

"Sure."

He glared at Justin suspiciously, but Justin just turned innocent eyes to the ceiling.

Ten minutes later, when he was so focused on work he couldn't even remember who was in the room with him, there was a hot brush of breath across his ear, a sudden weight against his arm, and he started and almost yelped, and Justin was RIGHT THERE, whispering, and Lance went rigid.

"I'm prettier than she was, Lance." Soft warm lips touched his earlobe, hot wet tongue swiped across it, and he was gone. Lance breathed.

***

"JC!" Lance was almost wailing, and JC wasn't paying attention at all. "JC, you gotta help me. He's driving me insane. He's always around. He won't stop touching me! And he sings! To me! At night! JC, you've gotta-" a low moan cut him off, and he took his phone away from his ear, stared at it bemusedly, and then brought it back, shouted into it. "JOEY! LEAVE HIM ALONE!" There was a squeak in his ear, then laughter, then JC's voice, breathy but alert.

"Sorry, Lance, what were you saying?"

"It's Justin. He's makin' me nuts, C."

"Again?"

"STILL!"

"Lance, I'm afraid you're just gonna have to...oooh....deal with it yourself. You're what, twenty--Joey!--twenty two years old? You should be able to handle Justin. He's just teasing you. Mmmmmm, yeah, just...you're letting him get to you. I haven't had a conversation with you in three days that hasn't been Justin this and Justin that. Just..ahhh, put him out of your mind, ok? Stay out of his way. Great, good, bye Lance."

Lance grimaced at his phone, hearing dial tone. JC was just no fucking help at all, these days. He glanced around himself carefully, no sign of Justin, and scurried off to hide in his bunk.

__

_Caught your hand inside the till  
Slammed your fingers in the door  
Fought with kitchen knives and skewers_

Concerts were the easiest time, lately. Justin was always up in front, wiggling and thrusting and glorying in the spotlight, while Lance was happily relegated to Stage Left, Three Steps Back. Unfortunately, that meant he had a prime view of the Justin Timberlake Experience, also known as the Finest Ass East of the Mississippi, and Lance couldn't help it if he was a little preoccupied with the way it shimmied, twisted and moved. It wasn't like he was messing up the steps or anything, though he still had to deal with Chris's smirk when he got caught staring with his mouth open during 'Pop,' or Joey laughing when he almost tripped on the ladder during 'Gone.' Like Joey wasn't completely unreliable for the ENTIRETY of 'Game Over,' just from getting to hold JC's hand in public. Bastard.

After concerts, though, all bets were off, and Lance found himself strung tight and nervous, moving to the buses, wiping sweat from his face, drinking water in long, blessedly cool swallows. What would it be tonight? Would Justin slide up to him in the kitchen, wrap long arms around him, drop little kisses on the back of his neck? Would he wander around in boxer-briefs and nothing else, complaining unconvincingly of the heat? Would he--Lance shivered--sprawl out on the couch with a sleepy smile and put his head in Lance's lap?

Lance was happy with his occasional, and ok, androgynous, girl. He didn't want to sleep with guys, and he certainly didn't want to sleep with JUSTIN. It was all just far too complicated, and potentially messy, and Lance liked to keep things as simple as he could, whenever he could. It was the only way he'd managed to maintain any kind of sanity for all these years. But Justin...Justin was making it difficult.

Tonight seemed quiet, though, and Lance let himself breathe deeply and relax, as he stripped out of his show clothes, shoved them into the dry cleaning bag, and stood in the little bathroom, wiping himself down. Post-show excitement was still sizzling through him, but tension slowed Lance down, made him more deliberate and careful, something that never failed to work Chris into a frenzy of frustration. Fortunately, Chris had exhausted himself climbing all over the ever-tolerant Joey, and had heaved himself onto the bus with his "I-want-my-bed-right-NOW" look.

Justin...where was Justin?

Lance was craving carbs. He ran his diet through his mind, decided half a bagel would be fine, and headed to the kitchen, stretching luxuriantly in soft clean sweats. Even without a proper shower, clean clothes could make him feel so much better.

One look at the little kitchen table, and he was leaping across the floor, slamming the top of his laptop down on Justin's fingers, and Justin screamed and fell backwards off the stool and everything was insane for about a second. Then Justin's head popped up over the edge of the table, pouting, all wildly curling hair and injured eyes.

"Dude, what the fuck? You scared the SHIT out of me!"

Palm still flat on the closed computer, Lance breathed deep, and exhaled carefully. Do not scream at the boy, do not scream at the boy... "Justin, I know you were raised by Chris and Joey, and that would...well, that would fuck anyone up," he ignored the mumbled "you swore again," and soldiered on, "but I'm pretty sure even you know the difference between MY things--which you are not to touch!--and YOUR things, which you can play with all you want." He was very proud of how even he'd kept his voice.

"Yeah, but your stuff's better." Justin flashed him a grin, still from the floor, and then clambered to his feet.

"My COMPUTER, Justin. So incredibly off limits. Do you know what would happen if you crashed it? Dropped it? BREATHED on it wrong?"

"Hey, hey, relax." Justin moved over to the fridge, grabbed--!!!--the last bagel, and started rummaging around in a drawer for a knife. "I mean, I wasn't in there deleting files or anything. I just wanted to see what new artists you were looking at. For FreeLance. You know?" He found a knife and cut the bagel. Lance simmered.

"What on...what IS this?" He moved forward, grabbed half the bagel, ignoring the warning wave of the butter knife. "That's my business. You've never been interested in my business before!"

"Well," Justin finished buttering his bagel, took a big bite, and kept talking, spraying crumbs everywhere, "I hadn't seen you naked before."

Lance gaped, bagel hanging forgotten from his fingers, not even caring that he was probably bright red.

"Justin, you've seen me naked a thousand times. A MILLION times. What are you talking about?"

Justin shook his head vigorously, took another bite. "Not sexy naked. With a guy. That's different."

"IT WAS NOT A GUY!" Lance howled, and Chris came through the doorway and looked at Justin, who was grinning, and at Lance, whose head was about to explode, and dragged a protesting Justin away by the arm, muttering about children and sleep and what-the-fuck-are-you-doing-to-our-bass-you-little-shithead, we-talked-about-this. Lance just tipped his forehead against the refrigerator and sighed.

__

_Dressed me up in womens clothes  
Messed around with gender roles  
Dyed my eyes and called me pretty_

At first he spent a lot of time hiding behind Chris, but Lance discovered that you could get used to anything, if you tried hard enough. He conditioned himself not to flinch away from big warm hands that always seemed to be holding his arm, cupping his nape, playing with his hair. He didn't shove Justin off, even when wooly curls tickled his neck as Justin sighed happily into his shoulder in front of the tv. He drew the line when Justin wanted to shower with him, and Justin didn't push, but he had to admit it was all kind of...nice. For most of six years, he hadn't really even showed up on Justin's radar, he was pretty sure, unless it was as a little blip, one like you might get from a passing seagull or something. And now, all of a sudden, he had the spotlight on him.

He asked Joey about it, since as far as he could tell, JC'd been just as persistent that last year, before Joey caved. Joey grinned, and patted his shoulder when he dropped his head into his hands.

"Scary, huh?" He sounded simultaneously sympathetic and wildly amused, and Lance was not comforted.

"I just don't know what to DO," he mumbled, fully aware that he sounded about four years old. Joey laughed outright, then.

"My advice? Buckle. Like a belt. It'll shorten the agony, and hey, you'll get to sleep with Justin."

"I don't want to sleep with Justin! And you're not allowed to watch 'Clerks' any more."

Joey looked at him incredulously. "You don't want to...Lance!" He laid a palm against Lance's forehead, and got all the way to feeling his cheeks before being batted away irritably. "Well, you don't seem to have a fever...are you out of your fucking MIND? Wait, you're not still pretending to be straight, are you?"

Lance shot him his very best look of death, and left.

***

Chris was even less help, really, even once Lance got him to sit down and listen without attempting to ride his new bike around the bus lounge.

"The thing is, he hasn't said anything, not really. He's just, you know. There. All the time, and grabby, and hey, maybe he's just feeling lonely or something! You know, since Joe and C got together, and all..." He looked at Chris hopefully, and winced at the pitying glance he got in return.

"See, it's like this. Jup was pretty much raised by JC, right? For all intents and purposes? And he saw what worked for C with Joey, you know, the longer hair, the pretty clothes, crawling all over Joey till Joey just, you know." Oh, yes, Lance knew. And was reminded every day. "So he's got a thing for you, suddenly, and BAM, you've got a whole lot of Justin all over you. I think it's safe to say he's not just missing his MOM, Lance."

"Suddenly? Jesus, Chris, this was like, overnight."

"Well, he does things like that." Chris shrugged. "It's just Justin."

"What if..." Lance didn't really want to say. Chris nodded anyway. Sometimes Lance was really grateful that Chris was so damned smart.

"If it just stops as quick as it started?" Lance shrugged one shoulder noncommittally. "Well." Chris considered. "Well, at least you'll have gotten really good and laid. I mean. You remember what AJ used to look like after one of his little visits? I think it might be worth it."

Lance didn't think it would be worth it. Justin was just too easy to love, and once he started, he wasn't very confident in his ability to stop.

***

The worst part was, it was working. Now he missed Justin when he wasn't there, found himself gravitating to him in every room, looking for him in every group. He mentally smacked himself about ten times a day, but couldn't seem to help it. He LIKED it when Justin sat beside him, humming and scribbling lyrics and beatboxing, a little, when he was working. He was especially fond of the way Justin danced, no matter what was on the stereo, no matter where they were. He'd always done it, and it had always been nice to watch, but now he was dancing for Lance, and that made it different.

So when Justin and Chris bounced through his hotel door in New York, crowing "Clubbin', we're goin' clubbin', Lance is comin', we're goin' clubbin'!" he found himself nodding despite the fact that he really needed to go over these new contracts and had about fifty e-mails to answer. He clicked the cover of the laptop closed without even saying goodbye to his business manager on AIM. He could always blame the hotel connection, later.

"Where are we going?" He smiled as Justin yelped in delight and threw himself onto the bed at his side.

"New club, VERY hot, you're gonna have to get spruced up." Chris looked at his tidy khakis critically. "None of your Gap Kids look, either, Bass." Lance flipped him a friendly bird, and crawled off the bed.

"You know I can look sharp when we go out. You, on the other hand, seem to have been standing in the path of a thrift store explosion. Really," he shook his head sadly, "we do have suitcases, y'know. You don't have to wear EVERY item of clothing you own." He started sorting through shirts, looking for something nice.

"The layered look is very in right now," Chris sniffed, tugging the middle sleeved down a little further. "And as resident fashion guru, I absolutely forbid you to wear that shirt."

"Fashion guru, hah." Lance glared at him over his shoulder. "The 'Worst Dressed' category was INVENTED with you in mind."

"Hey!" Chris was about to get indignant, but Justin made it off the bed and had a hand over his mouth in one loooong step.

"You both suck," he declared grandly. "If y'all are going to be seen in public with me, I'm gonna have to take steps." He whipped out his cell phone, as Lance and Chris gaped at each other, then at him. "Jayce? Hey. No, man. Sorry, yeah, I know...I know. Jayce. I need a favor. I need you an' Joey...no, just you. Come get Chris and dress him for me? We're going clubbin' and he looks like a homeless guy. Yeah. No. Swear to god, seriously. Can you? Cool. Thanks, C." He flipped the phone closed, and smirked at them both.

"What the...JC? You want me to let *JC* pick out my clothes? Man, those curls must be too tight, cramping your brain or something. Dude, have you seen his clothes?"

"Yeah, but he always looks hot, right? Way hot. He'll know what'll be good." Justin put a hand on Chris's back and shoved, just as JC stuck his grinning face through the door. Chris, still a little dazed, let him, and Lance could hear JC clucking over Chris even from the hall.

"Do him up nice, C, I'll take care of Lance," Justin called.

"I'll bet you will!" Chris had apparently rediscovered his voice.

"FUCKOFF," Justin shouted, and slammed the door. Turned. Lance felt like a deer in the headlights, and wondered for the first time exactly what kind of club this was. Because Justin...

Justin was wearing black. Sort of. The pants were shimmery-soft and so tight Lance wondered how Justin could sit, and laced up both sides at the top, and low low on his hips, Lance could almost, almost see...he yanked his eyes back up, but the shirt wasn't really much better. It was a turtleneck, in the loosest sense of the word. It even looked solid, long-sleeved and skintight, turning Justin's skin pale and perfect, his curls brighter and bronze by contrast. And then he moved in the light, and Lance realized that yeah, that was a nipple, and he could see it, and that meant that the shirt was more see through than not, and really, the safest place to look was Justin's fac-

Big eyes made huge by dark smudged liner, eyelashes for miles, sweet soft mouth red and shining with something vaguely sparkly. Justin had glitter on his cheekbones. Lance closed his eyes.

"Come on, it'll be fun." Justin's voice was coaxing. "Let me pick out your clothes? C'mon. Like wardrobe, only it's me!"

Somewhere in the last three weeks Lance had apparently lost his ability to say no to Justin ever at all, and he just gave in utterly. He nodded, and Justin clapped his hands and smiled, and before he could say a word Justin was elbow deep in his suitcase, muttering "no, no, no," as he flung discards over his shoulder. Lance scurried to pick them up and fold them.

Justin straightened and put his hands on his hips. "Lance, you don't have any good clothes at ALL. Hang on, I'll be right back." He blew out of the room before Lance could blink. He stood in the middle of the room feeling lost, and finally just kept folding clothes.

"Here." He couldn't have been gone for more than five minutes, but he had an armful of sparkles and shine and leather and was that vinyl? and Lance took a wary step back, wondering when his life had gone entirely out of his control. "You're all skinny now, I'll bet you can wear C's stuff. I had to practially beat him to get him to give it to me, and wait till you see Chris! Whoa. Anyway, here." He tossed the armful at Lance, and stared at him expectantly when Lance caught them automatically, and then stood still. "I didn't risk life and limb to get JC's best clothes so you could LOOK at them, Lance. Try them on!" He set a little bag on the nightstand, and sat in the chair, looking for all the world like a patron at a fashion show.

"Justin..." Lance held up a shirt, it was nice enough, but... "These are girls' clothes."

Justin nodded happily. "Isn't it great? You can always count on C."

"Justin, I can't wear girl's clothes!"

"Why not? I'll bet they'll fit."

"This is a SKIRT!"

"Oh, that's just for fun, I thought it would look cool on you, so you have to try it on. I think those green leather pants would be really hot, for tonight."

Lance sighed, and looked at the pants. He remembered these. They were kind of loose on JC, on him they'd be...

"Wow, Lance." Justin breathed, and Lance glanced at him, and his eyes were wide. "Hot. SO hot."

"I can't move."

"Sure you can, it's leather, it'll stretch. Those are them. Here, try this on with it."

The shirt could only be classified as a blouse. Deep V neck, which Lance kind of liked, soft black drape of fabric that hugged his body and ended a few inches above the lowcut pants, leaving his belly bare, and the beginning of his hipbones. He turned uncertainly to face Justin, who was grinning widely.

"Damn. I do good work. Damn. But you gotta take the boxers off, it's messing up the fit of the pants."

"I am not going commando in JC's pants. God knows what he's done in them, and anyway, he'd kill me."

"You can't wear BOXERS under LEATHER." Justin sounded scandalized. "Gotta thong?"

"NO!" Lance felt his face heat up.

"Then you gotta freeball it. It's no big deal, C had them cleaned, and you can too, before you give 'em back." He tossed the skirt to Lance, too, and smirked. "Try this on while you're at it."

"It's a-" Lance looked more closely at it. "Hey, this is the one JC was gonna wear to the VMAs!"

"Yeah, and then that bastard Richardson beat him to the punch. Can you imagine two guys in long black skirts? World woulda ended, if JC was any indication. He sulked for days."

"I remember." Lance sighed, stripped off the green leather with some difficulty, and hauled on the long black skirt. Again, it was low on his hips, and he was all in black again, and he looked in the mirror, and Justin gasped.

"Goth. Seriously pretty goth. Come here, come here, damn, we gotta-" Justin tugged him to the bathroom and pushed him down on the toilet seat and tilted his face up, and was rummaging in that little bag, and then a gentle finger brushed Lance's eyes closed. He felt the eyeliner pencil, a little shakier than he was used to in makeup, and flinched when it pressed too hard. Justin muttered "sorry, sorry," and kept lining. Then there was a mascara wand in his hand, and Lance was blinking obediently, staring idly at the heartbreaking curve of Justin's hipbone, where his shirt had rucked up a little. And the lacings on those pants didn't quite meet, and there was pale soft skin showing, and Lance-

"There." Justin hummed in satisfaction. "Perfect. Holy shit, Lance."

He stood and glanced at the mirror, almost afraid to know.

The black lines thick around his eyes, drawn out and pointed a little at the ends, so his eyes were huge and green and catlike, rimmed with dark lashes and strange in his pale face. Dark hair in punky spikes, glitter just touching his lips and cheeks, belly bare and male and hard over the curve and fall of the long skirt. Collarbones sharp in the frame of soft black cotton, and over his shoulder, tall and silent and wide-eyed, another beautiful boy in black, mouth a little open and showing sharp white teeth. The tall boy in the mirror slid hands forward at mirror-Lance's sides, curving them in around his waist, touching bare skin and brushing leather, running up to touch his chest, then down again to cup hipbones and tug him gently back. He went willingly. He couldn't tear his eyes away from Justin's in the mirror, indigo-warm, even as he tipped his head back to Justin's shoulder and bared his throat and felt the world spin away in the heat of Justin's mouth.

***

He'd expected a cessation of the campaign, now that the prize had been won, the castle stormed, the goal achieved. Justin had reduced him to a gasping shuddering living nerve ending, taken him apart and put him back together again, licked him from head to toe and back again and murmured beautiful, filthy things the entire time. Lance had torn at leather lacings with his teeth. He still flushed, remembering the way he'd bitten the pillow to keep from screaming when Justin had him on his hands and knees, when Justin had-

He shook his head, splashed more cold water on his face, and tried not to think about how Justin had fled the room the morning after, shouting for Chris and apologizing for ditching him at the top of his lungs, and hadn't really said a word to Lance since. Lance couldn't even remember if Chris had come by looking for them. He couldn't remember much. Now they were all going home, for the first time in years, and they wouldn't see each other for over a week. JC and Joey were practically falling apart, they hadn't let go of each other in over 24 hours. Chris was excited, he wanted to see his sisters. Who knew what Justin was thinking, and Lance...Lance thought a break might be a really good thing right now. He dried his face, and went out to say goodbye.

__

_Moved out of the house, so you moved next door  
I locked you out, you cut a hole in the wall  
I found you sleeping next to me, I thought I was alone  
You're driving me crazy, when are you coming home?_

The first hint he had that something was going on was the sound of tractors very very early in the morning on his first day back in Orlando. He'd shut off his cell phone for the entire break, not even answering calls from JC. He just wallowed, letting himself mope around the house, snapping at his mother until she gave him That Look and he shut up, watching football and eating leftovers till he felt stupid and huge and sated. He'd come back to Orlando feeling almost normal, barring the aching gaping hole where his heart had been.

The bulldozers were not normal. He stared out his window in horror, watching as they scraped out a whole line of shrubbery between his house and his neighbor's. It looked like someone was putting up a gate in the front, and tearing out trees, and was that a tennis court? His view!

He threw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and flew out of the house, across the lawn in his bare feet, meaning to find someone RIGHT AWAY and put a stop to this, because there was ZONING, dammit, and Lance had proof in his library, and...Justin?

Undeniably Justin, tall and perfect and grinning at him, morning light falling on him in that easy way light always did. Lance gaped.

"Hi, neighbor." Justin strode up to him, hugged him hard, licked secretly at his ear, and stepped away.

"What the FUCK?" Every time he was around Justin, the world stopped making any kind of sense at all.

Justin shrugged. "I missed you. I figured that instead of missing you more, I'd just move closer."

Lance ran a hand through his hair, ignoring the fact that part of him was starting to sing.

"You could have just visited me, Just. You didn't have to buy a HOUSE."

"Lance, I couldn't move in with you!" Justin was properly appalled. "What would people say?"

Lance looked at him, and started to laugh. He couldn't help it. Justin laughed too, and dragged him back to Lance's bedroom, and made up for a week of missing him. Turned out Justin still really liked his stomach and his ears and the small of his back, and that Justin's running monologue was more a habit than an exception, and well.

He figured he could get used to being called pretty.

__

_Oh you think you're so pretty._

[end]


End file.
